


The Shape of Regret

by DarlingFoe



Category: Shades of Magic - V. E. Schwab
Genre: Gen, Holland Vosijk - Freeform, Holland and the word Regret, In which I let my imagery do the talking, Listen I have a lot of feelings and he probably does too, Magic, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-27
Updated: 2020-08-27
Packaged: 2021-03-07 00:07:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26147671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarlingFoe/pseuds/DarlingFoe
Summary: This is a very, very, very small thing - provided by a prompt on my tumblr! A friend (I hope I can call them that - I adore interacting with them when we're both around!!) provided me with two words: longing or regret. I chose the latter (no surprise there)!! So I hope you enjoy this smol thing, though there isn't much of it. In a way, it sort of ties in with my main fic for the Shades of Magic (The Imbalance). Very much canon-divergent. Duhhhhhhhhhhh.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 4





	The Shape of Regret

**Author's Note:**

> ** SPOILER WARNING;; DO NOT READ THIS CONTENT IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE ENTIRETY OF  
> THE SERIES FOR A DARKER SHADE OF MAGIC - NAMELY, A CONJURING OF LIGHT!!**

_If regret were a tree, would it blossom? Would it have bark the color of dark, poisoned soil...and what of its branches? Would they hang low, reaching for any breath of life and vitality that passed beneath it, or would they hunt the skies with jagged claws?_

_What is the shape of Holland's regret?_

Holland's regret was a tree, or better, an entire wood. It bore sour fruit, the taste always too sweet, too tart, too _sick_ . That was what regret did to a person—it made them ill; it was a rot that spread through the veins, coiling around the heart and ate away at all the _good_ . It would devour him, piece by piece, breath for breath. It would do so until his tongue was black, until his blood was thick with it, until his heart beat a sluggish, wailing song of how it only knew pain and brutality and corruption and _sickness_ . _That,_ he thought to himself, sinking down against an old tree on his favorite hilltop, _is what regret is. It is a sickness; it is a rancid smell and a foul taste you cannot be rid of._

He tips his head back and closes his eyes. He takes a slow and somewhat agonizing breath. He was still healing, everything in him still felt... _lost_ somewhere that wasn’t there. He felt scattered. It took a strange amount of effort to simply breathe; his existence defied the rules of life and disrupted the balance of things. _The balance of magic_ , he corrects himself bitterly. He misses it. Holland was grateful to be alive, to be able to bear witness to Makht’s own rebirthing. To feel the shudder of the trees, the sigh of the hills, and birdsong returning. _Life returning._

And yet...It felt like a cruel punishment to leave him with nothing. Perhaps it is to be his atonement. After all, no one suffers as beautifully as him, right? 

Holland spreads his fingers on the earth beside him, soft and verdant grass slipping between them. He could feel himself unwinding, his anger slipping away like the slow tilt of a pan filled with water, tentatively spilling over. Were he to open his eyes, Holland would see the small blossoms forming around him, might catch sight of the tree he sat beneath reaching like the arms of a lover to greet him. Had he not dozed into a comfortable sleep, he could have listened to the forest whisper his name softly. 

_Thank you, thank you, thank you._  
_The king has returned, returned._  
  
The king is resting.

_The king is home._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
